


Family of Choice

by FanficAllergy



Series: Patchwork - 50 Theme Challenge [9]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Babysitting, Childbirth, F/M, Families of Choice, Gift Fic, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, toastbabies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch has a family, whether he wants one or not.  He finds out, of course, in the most Haymitch way possible... after a three day bender with a frantic tribute at his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family of Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForFutureReference](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFutureReference/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. This is a parody fanwork by fans for fans. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.

**oOo**

 

**Title:** Family of Choice

**Theme:** 13:  Name

**Words:** 3000

**Summary:** Haymitch has a family, whether he wants one or not.  Set in the same universe as 'Starting Over.'

 

**oOo**

 

 

_**Knock!  Knock!  Knock!** _

 

There's someone pounding on my door.  At least I think it is.  It could be my brain pounding on my skull in protest for yesterday's drinking binge.   Best thing to do is ignore it, whatever or whoever it is, and hope they go away.

 

**_WHAM!  WHAM!  WHAM!_ **

 

They're not going away.  Fuck!  Why aren't they going away?  Don't they know who lives here? 

 

I'm Haymitch Fucking Abernathy! 

 

No one disturbs Haymitch Fucking Abernathy after he's been on a three day bender other than Sweetheart or The Boy.  Everyone else is afraid I'll kill 'em.

 

Hell, even if it's Sweetheart or The Boy, I still might just kill 'em.  Fuck all the work it took to keep 'em both alive.  The way I'm feeling it might just be worth the regret later.

 

"Dammit Haymitch open up!"

 

I crack my eye open and note that it's still night.  I was right.  I fucking hate being right.  It's The Boy.  What the fuck is he doing over here this early?

 

I stagger out of my chair calling out, "You could've let yourself in, ya know?"

 

His voice comes back from the other side.  "I can't!  My hands are full!  Hurry up!"

 

Knocking several empty bottles out of the way, I clear enough of a path to open my door without breaking something.  I really need to see about getting a new housekeeper.  I wonder if Effie knows of anyone.  I'll have to ask her the next time I'm in town to see Thom.

 

I turn the handle and pull the sturdy piece of wood open to see The Boy standing there, his arms holding his sleeping four-year-old daughter, a large bag stuffed with who knows what dangling from one hand while the other clutches a stuffed bear.

 

Peeta shoves the bear into my hands and barges in, weaving his way through the maze of empty liquor bottles with experience learned from years of practice.  "I need you to take Juniper," he says without any preamble, looking for a clean place to set the little girl down.

 

He doesn't find one.

 

"Why can't that blonde girl watch her?" I ask, referring to Delly Hawthorne, nee Cartwright.  The girl'd married Rory Hawthorne a few years back and had a passel of kids with the runt.  She also ran the town daycare for kids too young to attend the new one room schoolhouse where her sister-in-law, Posy, taught.

 

"Cause she's needed elsewhere," Peeta answers.

 

"Where?"

 

The Boy looks up at me, his eyes wide.  "Katniss's water broke an hour ago."

 

Shit!

 

Girl's not quite eight months along.  The baby's not due for another five weeks or so.  Delly's also the closest thing we've got to a midwife here in Twelve with Katniss's ma still hiding out in Four. There's a doctor from the Capitol here now but the man's about useless without all of the high tech equipment he's used to, and, with Katniss in labor, our primary herb-woman is out of commission.

 

"Give the kid to me."  I hold out my arms.  "I'll watch her."

 

"Thanks, Haymitch," The Boy says, placing the sleeping child into my arms and dropping the bag on my vacated chair.

 

I watch The Boy sprint back to his house and look down at the little girl.  "How hard can this be?"

 

**oOo**

 

I regret my choice of words a few hours later when Juniper is fully awake.

 

The four year old stares up at me with the same scowl I've seen gracing Sweetheart's face.  "You stink," she pronounces with the authority only a child can master.

 

Unfortunately, she's not wrong.  A three day bender does that.  I'd planned on adding a fourth but my unwanted guest has put the kibosh on that idea.

 

I shrug, not really sure how to answer the little girl.

 

Juniper doesn't seem to mind because she tells me, "I'm hungry."

 

A jolt of panic runs through me.  Of course she's hungry.  She's not a washed up old man who gets most of her caloric intake from alcohol like me.  She needs food and I can't remember the last time I had actual food in my house.

 

No, that's not quite right.  I know exactly when I last had real food in my house.  It was three months ago to be exact.  The anniversary of the last Reaping Day.  Effie came around, leaving that husband of hers at home with their boy.  The former escort packed a basket full of food and we spent the day in the tribute graveyard with those kids we weren't able to bring home alive.  That night, Peeta and Katniss joined us for a feast in honor of all those killed in the Games.  Maysilee, Larkspur, Rue, Abel, Cecelia, Oswin, Wiress, Seeder, Brodie, Chaff, Mags... so many names.

 

I shake my head.  This is no time for reminiscing.  I've got a rug rat to feed.

 

I glance over at Juniper and note that she's staring at me with her arms crossed.  "What's for breakfast?" she asks.

 

"What do you want?" I counter, trying to rack my brain.  I might still have some of that canned stew Paylor sent when we were rebuilding the district.  It's only ten years old.  It's still good, right?  It's either that or one of the fruitcakes Effie gives me every year for the midwinter holiday.

 

The girl considers my question with undue seriousness. "Eggs?" It's a question.

 

I might be able to do eggs.  My geese lay them.  I think.  I don't really eat the eggs unless The Boy or Sweetheart make me.

 

Looking around my kitchen, I spot a mostly clean bowl that I might be able to use to hold any eggs I find.  As I bend down to pick it up, a heavenly smell assaults my nose.  Bread.  Glorious, freshly baked bread.  I snatch up the pack The Boy brought, opening it.  There, wrapped in shiny foil is a loaf of raisin-nut bread.  Halle-fucking-lujah for Peeta's forethought.

 

Clearing a spot on my battered kitchen table, I pull out my knife and wipe it off on my shirt.

 

I slice off a hunk and hand it to the little girl with a flourish.  "Breakfast is served."

 

**oOo**

 

After breakfast, I set Juniper up with some crayons and few scraps of paper that might once have been presidential decrees.  With that done, I run upstairs and grab a quick shower and change of clothes.  The girl kept making declarations about how much I stunk throughout our meal.  I figure I’d better do something about it.  

 

Besides, we need to run into town to pick up something more substantial to eat.  I don't think Sweetheart would be happy if I gave her baby food poisoning.  And I want to see if one of the Hawthorne kids can come over and help me pick up the place.  I don't mind a bit of mess but I'd rather not have Juniper find a piece of broken glass with her foot.  

 

The walk into town is one endless stream of questions after another.  Juniper wants to know everything about everything.  What kind of rock is this? What kind of plant?  Can birds fly backwards like bumblebees? Why is it cloudy on one side of the mountain, but sunny on the other side?  Those are the easy ones.  I do my best to answer her honestly, but mostly I end up making up shit.  I learned early on with Effie's boy, Thomas, that 'I don't know' isn't a good answer.  The hard questions are ones I don't know the answer to or don't know how to answer.  How's Mommy?  And the baby?  Why was Mommy crying?  Why was Daddy yelling?

 

I wish I could stop by the kids' house to see how they're doing.  If it were just me, I would.  They're my kids.  Damn anyone who'd stand in my way.  But I've got the rugrat and it's better if she weren't around for this.  Giving birth's a messy, loud business during the best of times.  And this sure as shit ain't one of those.

 

Posy Hawthorne's watching her brother's brood.  But she promises to send Vick and her eldest niece over to clean up my place.  I try to give her a little coin for her trouble but she waves it away.  "You're family," she says.

 

She's not, though.  At least not as far as I can recall.  Everyone in Twelve is related slightly, it's what happens when you have a small population.  But near as I can figure, Posy's something like my fifth cousin three times removed.  Definitely not close enough to be called family in any real way.  I look at her in confusion.

 

The young woman smiles.  "You're Katniss and Peeta's father and they're my family.  That makes you family too."  She fixes me with a hard look.  "I haven't forgotten what you did for us back then...  for Gale..."

 

She's referring to when I stepped in and stopped Thread from beating her oldest brother to death over a damned turkey.  I didn't do it for her.  I didn't even do it for her brother.  I did it because Sweetheart was going to get herself killed over that boy and I couldn't bear to watch that.  The Hawthornes owe Katniss.  Not me.  I'm just a washed up old drunk.

 

Posy sends me on my way with a few sandwiches and some peaches.  I've decided to take Juniper to the Meadow and let her run around and hopefully wear herself out enough that she'll nap for most of the afternoon.

 

It's probably the best damned idea I've had in years.  Juniper loves the Meadow, dancing and turning cartwheels through the grass.

 

She helps me gather handfuls of flowers to make flower crowns, one for her and one for me.  I try to convince her that we don't need to make me one.

 

But she just puts her hands on her hips like I've seen Effie do a thousand times before and proclaims, "Of course you need a crown, Uncle Haymitch!  If I'm gonna be the princess, that means you gotta be the king!"

 

In the face of logic like that, who am I to argue?

 

**oOo**

 

Later that night, I'm sprawled out on my newly cleaned couch, a sleeping Juniper curled up on my chest.  I've got a book of folktales open next to me, but I'm not reading it.  Instead, I'm staring down at the little girl I've spent the whole day with.

 

Sure, I'd spent time with the kid.  But mostly over what The Boy likes to call 'Family Dinners' and holidays.  I've never spent fourteen hours with Juniper before and I'm surprised to realize I don't want it to end.

 

Posy is right.  Peeta and Katniss, they are my family.  Which makes this little girl my family too.  The realization floors me.

 

I never thought I'd have another one after my Ma, Jake, and Evie died in that fire all those years ago.  I'd never wanted to take the risk. It's why I pushed Effie away all those years ago.  I'd have been a bad choice for her.  She's much happier with Thom and their boy than she could ever be with me.  But lying here, I wonder if I didn't make a mistake.  It wouldn't be the first mistake I've made.  It sure as hell won't be the last.

 

I hear the heavy footsteps of The Boy on my porch followed by a soft knock on my door.

 

"It's open," I call out softly, careful not to wake the sleeping child on my chest.  I hope The Boy hears me.

 

He must've since he walks in a few moments later.   His face is haggard and it looks like he's been crying.   I feel a huge weight form in the pit of my stomach.

 

"Katniss?" I manage to get out.

 

"Wants to see you."

 

"She's okay?"

 

"Yeah."

 

I swallow nervously.  "And the baby?"

 

"He's alive. Breathing. But he's so small, Haymitch."  The Boy takes several deep breaths like he's trying to hold back an episode. "They're sending some special equipment and medicine up from the Capitol on the next train for him."

 

That tells me quicker than anything else just how bad things were... are... "Then I guess I best go pay my respects."  I nod my head toward the child sleeping on my chest. "You want to give me a hand?"

 

The Boy plucks Juniper off of me with such practiced skill that the little girl doesn't even stir.   I pull myself upright, fighting back the wave of dizziness that threatens to overwhelm me.  I haven't had a drink since last night and the first wave of withdrawal symptoms are starting to hit, but I can't afford to indulge myself in a drink right now.  I've got somewhere to be.

 

We walk to the house Sweetheart and The Boy share with the Munchkin.  Munchkin.  I like it.  The little girl can be Munchkin. I smile internally for coming up with a better nickname for the little girl than rugrat.  I wonder if Katniss will hate the nickname I have for her daughter as much as she hates her own.

 

My eyes widen when we get inside.  The state of the two kids' house makes mine seem clean by comparison.  There are pans, dishes, clothes, and whatnot strewn everywhere.  Every surface is covered with a mishmash of things from medicine to papers to one of Delly Hawthorne's famous casseroles.   Both kids are usually neat to the point of it being obsessive, it explains why they get on so well with Effie, so this chaos has me more than a little concerned.

 

Peeta clears off a spot on the couch and covers Juniper with an afghan.

 

"Why ain't we taking her up to her room?" I ask before I can stop myself.

 

The Boy flushes and glances around the house guiltily.  "I'm not sure I can carry her up the stairs without falling.  The house is..." he trails off, motioning helplessly to the mess.

 

"Right.  So lead on, kid."

 

The stairs are just as bad as the rest of the house.  There's liquid spilled on the stairs and towels and other clothes tossed haphazardly over the mess.  At the base of the stairs is a huge pile of linens and I can see some are stained with blood.

 

Shit.

 

I try not to think about it as I follow The Boy upstairs.  As we ascend, my ears catch the soft tones of someone singing.  It's an old lullaby about a baby sleeping in their mother's arms.  The same one my ma used to sing to me and my brother when we were small.  I swallow back the lump that's formed in my throat.

 

"Katniss?" The Boy calls out softly.

 

The singing abruptly ceases.  "Peeta?  Is that you?"

 

"Yeah."  He opens the door to the master bedroom.  "I brought him like you asked."

 

Hooking my head around The Boy, I see The Girl propped up against her headboard, a heavily swaddled bundle in her arms.  “How you doin’, Sweetheart?” I ask for lack of anything better to say.

 

She gives me an amused look.  “I’ve had better days.”

 

“I bet you have.  Ain’t much that can be worse, I reckon.”

 

“I can think of one or two,” she says wryly.  “But I didn’t ask you here to reminisce about a time we’d all rather forget.  I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

 

I swallow thickly.  “Who’s that?”

 

“Haymitch Abernathy,” she says with undue seriousness, “I’d like you to meet Mitchell Mellark.”

 

“Mitchell?  You ain’t thinkin’ of namin’ the kid after me.”

 

“Not thinking.  Did.”

 

Peeta steps in.  “Katniss figured you’d object if we called him Haymitch, but his name’s close enough to yours that we can honor you this way.”

 

“I didn’t do nothing worthy of being honored.”

 

“Katniss and I think otherwise.  We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” He places a warm hand on my shoulder.  “Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass and a drunk, but you’re also the best mentor two kids from District Twelve could ask for.”

 

“There’s forty six tributes lyin’ in the cemetery that might disagree with you.”

 

“I’m not gonna fight you on this, Haymitch,” Katniss says, keeping her voice low.  “Yeah, you weren’t a good mentor to them, but you were for us.  You managed to keep us alive through two Games.  No other mentor can say that.  You managed to keep us alive in the midst of a war.  No other mentor can say that.  I won’t forget what you did for me.  You know how I feel about owing a debt.  And Haymitch Abernathy, we owe you one hell of a debt.”

 

“You don’t owe me shit.”

 

“I tried saying that to her.  It doesn’t work,” Peeta says.  “I think you’d just better get used to being a grandpa.”

 

“Oh fuck no!”  I exclaim, shaking my head vigorously.  “I ain’t no one’s grandfather, and that’s the way I like it.  No friends, no family, no ties.  That’s me.  Haymitch Abernathy.”

 

“That was you,” Katniss says, her voice firm.  “But things are different now.  And you’ve got a family in us, whether you like it or not.”

 

“Don’t I get a vote?”

 

Peeta shakes his head.  “Nope.  A wise man once said you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.  You’re family, Haymitch.  Our family.”

 

They’re right.  I didn’t choose them.  But I’ve got them anyway.  “Well shit.  I guess this calls for a toast.”

 

Peeta scrounges up a bottle of white liquor and I take a pull.  “To family.”

 

Katniss and Peeta do the same with their tea.  “To family.”

 

When I woke up this morning I was alone.  Or at least I thought I was.  Somehow, throughout the day, I managed to pick several relatives even though I thought I didn’t have any kin left.

 

Sometimes family finds you in the strangest of places.

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

> AN:  
> Written: 11/1/15  
> Revised: 11/1/15  
> Betaread by: RoseFyre
> 
> Written for ForFutureReference both as a thank you for picking up beta services and as a reward for guessing the location of where the cave in Let Me Fly is. Sorry it took so long? I quite literally got hung up on the last five hundred words - considering I started this thing back in May. Hopefully you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
